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How could we be happy, if not in our place, at the feet of our masters? I hated him, yes, but I had wanted, too, to be owned by him Even from the first time our eyes had met, on a far world, I had sensed I was appropriately a rightless belonging, and wanted to be his. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 46, Sentence #35)

Did they not know they were men? Did they think we longed for "persons," neuters, identicals, or imitation women? Were they ashamed of their blood? Did they fear it? Why did so many strive to diminish and betray themselves in order to please and satisfy those pathological ideologues who feared and hated them? What rewards, I wondered, could repay them for this reductive, stunting, biological treason? On the other hand, I had met many Gorean men, masculine, powerful, and formidable, before whom a woman knew herself as, and could be but, a slave. On Earth it was hard for a woman to be a woman. On Gor, collared, and put to her knees, she had no choice, nor wanted any. How could we be happy, if not in our place, at the feet of our masters? I hated him, yes, but I had wanted, too, to be owned by him Even from the first time our eyes had met, on a far world, I had sensed I was appropriately a rightless belonging, and wanted to be his. I think women understand what I am saying. Perhaps so, perhaps not. Perhaps some have dreamed of the man who will look upon them, find them acceptable, and put them in his collar. - (Smugglers of Gor)